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Chapter 176: Omen of Death
I quickly distanced myself from him, and he waved at me from afar, saying, "Brother Qi, leave this to me. You can rest easy."
It was hard for me to feel at ease with those words.
I hoped he would find an unoccupied house soon, and since it had been vacant for a long time, there would surely be some lingering spirits inside. He would need to offer them something to keep the trouble at bay. I took a taxi straight to the Monkey Spirit's Lotus Town, frequently checking the time after getting in. The driver noticed my urgency and reassured me, "Brother, you look familiar. Don't rush too much; I’ll get you there quickly."
The driver's voice was sharp, and his beady eyes made me uncomfortable. "Thank you, Master," I replied tersely. Knowing that speaking too much could lead to trouble, I seized this rare opportunity to close my eyes and rest.
As soon as I shut my eyes, a bloodied face appeared before me. The eyes were tightly shut, but just as I leaned in closer to examine her, her eyes suddenly flew open, and she grinned at me. The feeling was indescribably eerie.
I jolted awake all of a sudden.
The car had just come to a stop. The driver said, "We're here." His voice sounded strange—definitely different from when I first got in. Filled with suspicion, I stood up and kept my gaze fixed on the back of the driver's head. Just then, his head turned around completely, staring directly at me. "Hell Gate has arrived."
Damn!
I jumped up in shock and truly woke up with a cold sweat. The driver asked, "Did you have a nightmare?" Looking at his face in the rearview mirror, it seemed normal enough, except for a knowing smile playing on his lips as if to say: you're the most peculiar passenger I've ever had; how can you sleep on such a short ride?
"Uncle, I'm getting out."
"Getting out already?" As he spoke, he pulled over to a parking spot. My head was spinning a bit; I swayed slightly as I got out of the car—still shaken by that nightmare. Damn it, it really is Ghost Month; even taking a taxi leads to strange dreams.
If it were midnight, wouldn’t the streets be filled with ghosts?
With a long sigh, I picked up my belongings and got out of the car, handing over a ten-dollar bill.
The driver held onto the steering wheel, a smirk on his face. "You took the ride, so we don't negotiate. The fare starts at ten bucks. You've been in here for quite a while and even fell asleep; it’s gotta be at least a hundred." Seeing me hesitate to reach for my wallet, the driver frowned. "If you can't afford the fare, just look at this car—it's not something just anyone can ride in. This isn't a taxi; you should understand that and pay up."
He was right; I rarely took cabs. I just found it particularly comfortable to doze off in this car. The space was larger than most, and the seats were incredibly soft. It was even better than Chi Xinrong's car, so when the driver mentioned the price, I took a moment to examine the vehicle closely.
Damn! It really was some kind of BMW—I was taken aback. With no other choice and seeing that the driver wasn’t going to let me leave without paying, I reluctantly pulled out a hundred-dollar bill. Although I was irritated, I didn’t want to argue with him since I was in a hurry. I handed him the money and said, "What’s it to you if I give it to you?"
"Well, if you give it to me, then I'll take it," he replied, pleased with himself as he whistled and drove off.
What the hell!
It felt like I was being robbed—money in hand but no way to spend it. I cursed silently as I turned away, trying to find my way to Monkey Spirit's place, only to realize that Monkey Spirit's silly brother hadn’t given me clear directions.
I picked up my phone again and called him. He answered quickly and asked where I was before saying, "Just rest for a bit; I'll come pick you up." After hanging up, I looked around and noticed a Fat Intestine Noodle Shop nearby that seemed quite busy.
With the sun glaring outside, I decided to walk over to the Fat Intestine Noodle Shop.
The owner of the Fat Intestine Noodle Shop was a young woman who looked quite friendly. As soon as I entered, she greeted me warmly and invited me to sit down.
Less than ten minutes after sitting down, someone burst in, looking alarmed. "There’s been an accident! The driver died horribly."
This person seemed familiar with the young woman owner. She asked him with an accent from another region, "What happened?"
The man appeared to have run over; he was sweating profusely and kept fanning himself with his hands. The young woman owner said apologetically, "I can't turn on the fan if you're hot; just tell me what happened!"
"Ah, a truck loaded with rebar was rear-ended by a BMW. The rebar went straight through the driver's forehead and chest. I've never seen anything like that in my life; tonight is bound to be filled with nightmares."
"When did this happen? What did the driver look like?" I asked in shock, causing the patrons enjoying their fat intestine noodles to tense up, all turning to look at me in silence. "I just arrived in a BMW."
"Is that true? I heard that car was stolen, and the driver was the thief. I got this information from the traffic police but didn't dare to ask too much. I just wanted to leave and catch my breath."
Stolen?
If that's the case, then my earlier nightmare must have been a warning. If I had continued riding in that car, I might have really been in trouble.
While I felt relieved, I also wondered if it wasn't even the car I had been in. Although the timing matched perfectly with when I left, it could just be a coincidence. After all, if someone stole a car, why would they stick around to give someone a ride?
I certainly didn't have time to check the driver's real identity because I saw Hou Dequie arriving. He came on a motorcycle, as if he knew I was here, heading straight for Fat Intestine Noodle Shop and waving at me through the large glass wall.
Now that's a motorcycle—nothing like my old junker. It was noisy, quick, and looked powerful and handsome.
"What brand is your bike?"
"Suzuki GS100R."
"Not bad, pretty good."
"Master Ma, did you come alone?" Hou Dequie asked unnecessarily.
"Are you just making small talk? You already know I'm here by myself."
"Ha, I spoke too much," Hou Dequie chuckled, falling silent afterward.
The road seemed to be just the two of us, the motorcycle's wheels spinning steadily forward. We passed one village after another, turning corner after corner, until the motorcycle finally brought me into a tree-lined path. A chill enveloped me as we entered; beneath the lush greenery, a two-story building came into view.
A winding concrete road led directly to the entrance of the two-story building. As we arrived, I noticed there were no signs of mourning preparations—no funeral wreaths, no black veils, and no guests. From the outside, it hardly looked like a place where someone had died.
However, as I got off the motorcycle, I saw several piles of burnt joss paper and ashes at the entrance. Due to the dew, the joss paper and ashes were damp and soft, making them difficult to sweep away without sticking to the broom.
Filled with suspicion, I followed Hou Dequie into the house.
Once inside, I realized this was a yard entrance, constructed like a tunnel leading into the house. The atmosphere felt unsettling—dark and chilly. The corridor-like "door" opened up a bit more but still felt cramped; houses were packed tightly together in a way that made me uncomfortable.
"Master Ma, don't laugh at us. We’re moving here, and every household has built like this; it almost fills up all the space. It looks unpleasant," Hou Dequie explained.
"I see. Where is your brother's mourning hall?" I asked.
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